


Finally

by grainyangel



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, content warning for Extreme tenderness, day of, or I should say Night of Stanley Cup win
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 15:57:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15028106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grainyangel/pseuds/grainyangel
Summary: “I did it for you.”-Nicky and Ovi find themselves in a hotel room above Las Vegas after a night of partying upon winning the Stanley Cup, words are said, and feelings are felt, and broken hands are held.





	Finally

**Author's Note:**

> I wish I was the kind of person who named things after song lyrics but unfortunately I don't remember a single song I've ever heard, so I'm not.
> 
> And a moment of silence for the fact that I uhhhhhhhhhh never get anyone to beta read a single thing I've ever written please, but hey. I love you.

Finally

A hotel room somewhere high above Las Vegas, lit mostly by the lights of the city streaming in through the floor to ceiling windows. There’s a hum of noise from down on the street, people, music, cars, but in the room, it’s something close to quiet. A break in the mayhem of celebration, the euphoria coming to a lull for just a for just a moment. Even champions and heroes need a bit of rest. Neither are sober, and neither have been a many hours now. Outside, the sun is about to rise above the desert. There is only a few hours until the team is supposed to fly back home and receive their hero’s welcome from the people of Washington. 

The night has been a complete blur. Feelings that can’t be put into words were yelled or danced or drunk. Looks and touches and more yells, most wordless, were how everyone reminded each other that it was real. Victory. A championship. The Cup. Real. They’d done it. The Washington Capitals, Stanley Cup champions. And here they sit, on a bed, Alexander Ovechkin and Nicklas Bäckström. Stanley. Cup. Champions. There are two beds in the room, but they are sitting side by side on one of them. Catching their breaths. They’ve hardly been able to tear their eyes off of each other. They only do so to look at the Cup. And then back to each other. Affirming each other. Archiving every moment.

They haven’t talked much in the hours since the game. They’ve yelled and screamed and sung and drunk but there hadn’t been much space for talking. Here, now, they have breathing room to do so. Alex tries, through the inebriation, so think of something to say. Here in the hotel room the whole thing might as well be a dream, a shared illusion, but it isn’t, because there it is. The cup. The Cup. It isn’t glowing, but it might as well be. It is magnetic, and it is theirs. Finally. Finally. Finally. 

“Fucking finally, eh?”

“Yeah. Finally.”

A beat. Nick’s broken hand is resting in his lap, and tenderly and careful not to touch the wrapped-up fingers, Alex takes that hand. So this is what it feels like to finally let go after having held your breath for a decade. Through the drunkenness and the exhaustion, Alex feels strong and bold and brave. He feels like the king of the world. He feels raw and vulnerable and singular. He feels naked. He’s just a kid. Green. Vibrant.

“I did it for you,” he says, looking at Nick’s hand and he holds it.

“What?”

“For you.” He takes a moment to think, then: “We– I let you down many times when we lose. But now I make you proud. Proud of team. Proud of me.” This is the closest Alex has come to finding the right words to say. It is hard, to say exactly what you mean. How you feel. Sometimes the words do not exist. Or maybe they do exist, but not in the language you have in common with the person you want to say them to. This is important. After everything. Every year has been a little harder than the year before. Every loss stung a little more. Last year had been the worst by far. Alex hadn’t known what to do with himself. Nicklas had been miserable. He’d been furious. At one point Alex was afraid he’d lost him. Alex couldn’t lose Nick. Alex was afraid he’d lost his chance. His opening. Lost his shot at the cup. At removing the asterisk that seemed to hover by his name. Those fears weighed on him, wore him down, but the fear of losing Nicklas was worse. He couldn’t do it without him. Couldn’t bear the other fears, or the criticisms, or the taunts. Couldn’t take another step, not in any direction, be it up or down. He’d had to prove to Nick that he really meant it. That Nick should give him one more chance. That Alex could do it. Would do it. For him. That he belonged to him. That he needed him. And these were all things he couldn’t say. Didn’t know how to say. Alex holds on to Nick’s hand. He caresses the soft skin on the back of Nick’s hand with his thumb. “The Cup is for you,” he says. 

“Hm?”

“It’s yours.” This isn’t quite right, but he isn’t sure how else to put it.

“The Cup is everybody’s. It’s for everyone.”

“Yes, yes, also that, but me, I give it to you.”

“O…”

“Yes?”

“Alex.”

“Nicky.”

“Don’t say things like that. You worked so hard, we all worked hard, to win it for all of us and the– the city, everyone, Beags, Osh, Nisk… Burk… the team.” And they had. It was true, Nick was right. But that wasn’t what Alex was saying. They all had worked their asses off. They’d showed up for victories and disappointments. They’d become a family. They’d believed in each other. They’d fought. And they’d all done it for different reasons. And this was Alex’s.

“Yes, and every year I play like that, and is good, but this time I play like this but I also play for you, and is better.”

“Alex.”

“Yes, Nicke, for everyone, for families, for everybody, you’re right, but I say what I say, and will keep say it again because is true. I play for me, for everybody, but I win for you.”  
Again, a beat. There is a current running through them both, sparking at every point of contact.

“You did,” Nick says, so softly, like if he spoke too loudly he might wake them both from the dream. “You won.”

“We won.” Alex pauses.

Alex moves closer to Nicklas. The AC is on, but both are burning up. Neither smell very good. Both could use a shower before meeting up with the others and flying out. Alex can feel the heat of Nick’s thigh through their clothes. Their shoulders are pressed against each other. Alex shifts so that he can rest his head on Nick’s shoulder. 

“Nicke,” he says. “We did it.” Alex feel like he can hardly fit inside his own body. Like he might expand and blow like a balloon. Like if he didn’t feel the warmth of Nick’s body on his skin, grounding him, he might fly off into space and never land again.

“We did it.”

“We won the Cup.” Alex nods to himself. “We deserve this.” This isn’t a question. Not really. Alex truly believes that they do. Nicklas agrees with him.

“We do. We earned it.” Nick affirms.

“We earned it.” Alex echoes. “Are you– are you proud?” he asks. And Nicklas just looks at him, eyebrows drawn together. Stupid question.

“Yes I’m proud,” Nick says, “I’m fucking proud.”

“Hah, fucking proud.” Alex looks at Nick. He bites his lip. “And proud of me?”

“Yeah.” Nick doesn’t pause to think before answering. “I’m proud of you. I’ve never been so fucking proud of you, Alex.”

And all Alex can do is sigh. There are too many thoughts and too many feelings to even begin to make sense of them, much less say them out loud. One sees in the other’s eyes what can’t be said. It is impossible to explain, so they look at each other and they hold each other. And they howl. No words. Just sound. Just feeling. They’re not howling now, but they will be again later. At fans. At each other. At everyone who didn’t think they could do it. But not right now. Now is for breathing and for speaking truths in low voices.

This feels like a finale of sorts. The culmination of a lifetime of work, and a decade of partnership and of effort and of something special and indescribable. It feels like an ending. But it also feels like the beginning. A rebirth. Day one. They are sated and starving at the same time. How do you put words to that paradox? Alex just turns his head where it rests on Nick’s shoulder and breathes in. This is just the beginning. The beginning, both of something big and abstract, but also in a more immediate sense, of a few days of a party, a celebration unlike any before, an absolutely incomprehensible bender. They should take breaks where they can. Rest up when possible. Be ready. Be happy. Alex lifts his head and looks at Nick. He is so fucking happy. And Nicklas is too. Alex isn’t sure he has ever seen him this happy. And while Alex is taking in Nick’s whole face, his eyes, his crooked smile, the softness of him, the hair behind his ear, Nicklas is just looking at Alex’s eyes. And he finds what he is looking for. And they are 20 and 22 again, in Alex’s glossy black car, in a parking garage, screaming their heads off.  
But Alex’s hair is a silvery grey now, and they both have beards, and Nick’s hand is broken, and Alex is missing a tooth and a half, and neither have ever been this tired and this charged with energy at the same time in their lives. They should rest. They should shower. They stay as they are, sitting side by side, leg to leg, should to shoulder. Nick’s warmth and glow is alight between them. Alex’s big feelings are all outside of him right now, wrapping them, enclosing them, shutting out the rest of the world. They will come back into his body soon enough and he will carry them with him and share them with his team and with his city. But for now, this is perfect.  
Alex exhales loudly. 

“We won the cup.” Alex let himself fall backwards on the bed. We did it. We did it we did it wedidit. Wediditwediditwediditwediditwediditwedidit. 

He just lies there, sinking into the softness of it. He is suddenly weighed down with memories. _The Washington Capitals are pleased to select Alexander Ovechkin_. A handshake and a hug from his father, a kiss and a hug from his mother. Hugs for every man down that row of seats. Thinking back, it felt completely inevitable. Couldn’t wipe the smile off his face then. And it had been whole too. That was almost 15 years ago. And then a couple of rough seasons. He knew what people said about him. He’d never been quite able to tune it out completely. And he’d been alone. He’d been on his own until…  
_Don’t be shy_. George McPhee had said. _Please, please, George, no_. And that was what, 12 years ago? And those years felt both like an eon, like a century, but also like nothing more than a moment. They might as well just have stepped off the podium. _The Washington Capitals are happy to pick… Nicklas Backstrom_. Memories of mundane moments come too. Practices. Games won, games lost. Contract extensions. Big plans for the future. _Really happy we got ‘im._ Yeah. 

Alex takes a deep breath sits back up and pulls a leg onto the bed, turning, so he’s facing Nick rather than sitting side by side with him. Nick also turns to meet him. Alex just leans in and puts his face to Nick’s. Brow to brow, cheek to cheek. Alex feels another roar of delight building inside him, and he grins. Nick cups the back of Alex’s head with a hand. His good hand. And they breathe together. They feel. They’re here. Together. 

Still. 

Finally.

Nicklas pulls back and looks at Alex with a crooked smile. His eyelids are heavy. This close his breath smells like beer. Alex feels like crying. He has already cried today. Yesterday. He doesn’t know what time it is. He could cry with relief. With joy. With catharsis. He’s not completely sure why he wants to cry now but he’s looking at Nick and it’s all just. A lot. He’s as likely to start crying right now as he is to howl with joy and laughter. He might do both. Nick cried too, earlier. It was overwhelming. There was nothing else to do but cry. And then the party. The club. While they were partying, nothing felt further away than crying. But it’s coming back. Nick can see it in Alex’s eyes. In the set of his lip and chin, though it’s mostly hidden.

“You gonna shave the beard?” Nick asks with a smirk, and Alex laughs. Alex’s laugh is something special. Nicklas feels lucky every time he hears it. And the beard is getting ridiculous.

“Hah! I look good, right?” Alex beams and Nick nudges Alex’s knee with his own.

“You look wild,” he says.

“Ha-hah, yeah, baby! And you like it! I look really good!” Alex says. “You just jealous!” He puts a knuckle under Nick’s chin, and he is grinning his toothless grin and he looks like the happiest man in the world and he is massive and impossible and unpredictable and an entity all in his own right and Nick knows, like he knows his heart was beating in his chest, and like the sun rises and sets, that he’ll be by his side until the end. Neither know what will happen after this moment. What the future is going to look like. Besides from vigorous celebration and ambitious and likely near aggressive alcohol consumption. But right now, what comes next doesn’t matter. Nicklas can’t find it in himself to care about a single thing that isn’t this moment and this feeling. Anything could grow here. Alex must be feeling the same. He puts his hand on Nick’s arm. He holds it there. That is all. The Cup. A quiet moment before a storm breaks. A breath. Nicke. Alex. 

“We should pack.”

“Don’t want to pack.”

“And shower.”

“Don’t wanna shower.”

“You’re gonna stink up the plane.”

“Everyone drunk, everyone stink, no one care.”

“Well, I’m gonna shower.” Nicklas shifts and makes as if to get up.

“We got time.” Alex drops his hand and takes both Nick’s hands in his own now. Again, careful with the broken one. He just holds on. “Before flight, is still some time, no?”

“Yeah, I think a couple of hours.”

“Then wait?” He looks up from Nick’s hands in his, to meet Nick’s eyes. “Just wait a bit, here, with me.” _Savor this with me please_.

“Yeah.” Nicklas gives a single nod and a small smile. “Yeah, okay.” _Of course._

“Okay.” _Thank you_.

_Finally._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm new at this and I don't really know what I'm doing but we're all just LIVING or whatever.  
> This is the first thing of the genre (if you will) that I've written and on one hand I didn't think I'd ever get here and on the other hand I CANNOT believe it took me this GOSH DARN long.  
> Thanks for reading thanks for stopping by thanks for forgiving my immense shortcoming in terms of formatting thanks for everything.
> 
> xoxo
> 
>  
> 
> (I'm on tumblr @ barebevil and on twitter @ kittynorville)


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